


Still Zuko

by WinterSnufkin



Series: The Little Lady [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Brief Miscommuncation, Crossdressing, Extreme Touch Starvation, Gen, Internal Conflict, Iroh: Your Entire Family Has Had Internal Conflict, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Questioning Gender Concepts, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko: They all wanted to wear lady clothes???, Zuko: Uncle is so confusing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSnufkin/pseuds/WinterSnufkin
Summary: Zuko inhales deeply and the candle’s flame brightens in response. He lets himself tune back in to the groaning ofThe Little Lady, hears the shrieking of metal against metal as their course is slightly adjusted, and thinks to himself that he also prefers to respond to minute changes in his life by screaming.They have a lot in common.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & Introspection
Series: The Little Lady [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773727
Comments: 31
Kudos: 497





	Still Zuko

Zuko thinks of his mother.

Her hands were soft; they did nothing more than caress, and hold… and write very long letters. Her hair was long and silky black, a bit like Mai’s but with more presence, a thickness that could be easily shaped into different styles. Her voice was a low, calming note on the evening wind-- it was reassurance; it was love.

Zuko looks down. His hands are calloused, but so are Azula’s.

Azula trains like her life depends on it. Zuko has only recently realized that it does; she always caught on to subtleties like that long before he did, and she never, _ever_ told him.

That would take away her advantage.

Azula’s voice is a mocking echo of their father’s. It doesn’t try to be pretty or accommodating. When she puts on makeup, it only makes her sharper, not soft in the slightest.

...There is a mirror in Zuko’s quarters on the Wani.

After he’d gotten past his habit of smashing every mirror that he passed in his first year of banishment, he’d simply started covering them with sheets. He stayed out of the communal areas that needed them uncovered.

He’d expected the crew to gossip about it, to use it against him, but they are surprisingly consistent about only loathing him for his unkindness, and not his weakness. Uncle Iroh most certainly helps in this regard. Strange old man.

Zuko has uncovered the mirror.

He used to sit in his mother’s lap as she put her makeup on. It was so long ago… and it’s difficult to remember the details, but he remembers the concepts well enough.

And not even a month ago, a woman in one of the Fire Nation’s Earth Colonies had shown him anew. Madame Li Na had spoken of more than makeup. Mannerisms, movements, word choice.

She’d described a certain… delicacy… that neither Mother nor Azula had bothered with. Though soft, Mother’s hands had always been firm and sure. Never wavering, never frail.

Zuko looks at his reflection.

When he’s alone, the scar is just a scar. Well, not _just_ \-- there’s still the phantom pain, and the humiliation of his exile. But when others are staring, there is also the shame of ugliness. Zuko had never found himself to be vain until he lost his beauty.

All of that is gone right now. It’s just him in his room, with the door locked tight, in his underwear and on his knees in front of the floor-length mirror. The sheet that had been covering it pools around him. He picks it up with one hand and frowns, rubbing the fabric between his fingertips.

It _is_ red… unlike the kimono that the Madame had given him. As interesting as it was to wear green, he’d feel far more like himself in his native colors.

He pulls the sheet around himself and stands. He instantly wants something gold around his waist, but he has nothing that would function for it.

Perhaps delicacy is what he needs. He doesn’t really want to emulate Mother, or Azula. He just wants to be himself, but beautiful. To be beautiful is to be worth something. Beautiful things are coveted just for existing as they are; their value is not created by skill or performance, and therefore, they can never fail to live up to expectations.

They’re passive. They just _are_ , and find themselves loved for it. Zuko wants to just _be_ , if only for a little while.

\-----

The Wani is made of groaning sheets of metal, curved and held in the perfect form to carry Zuko and his crew through whatever the ocean has to offer.

She runs on burning coal, hot in her belly. She spews out smoke and surges forward, cutting her path through the icy waters yet leaving no wound. Severe, yet kind.

Is she delicate? White letters hold strong against the elements on her side: _The Little Lady_. It’s Lieutenant Jee’s phrase, but Zuko’s grown strangely attached to it.

He stands on the upper platform, looking down over the ship’s deck, and smoke billows idly from his mouth whenever he exhales. He’s in uniform, but he doesn’t want to be. He’s not yet sure of what he should be wearing, but it feels like the ship will tell him somehow.

“You are in a strange mood today, Prince Zuko,” Uncle says, coming up the stairs. He carries a small portable tea set, one that hooks onto railings so he can set himself up wherever he wants on the ship. When they’d first seen it in an antique shop, Uncle had been so visibly excited that the store owner had doubled the price on the sly. Zuko had been too exhausted and in pain at the time to argue.

He hooks it to the rail next to Zuko and pours him a cup. “Something on your mind?”

Zuko turns away slightly so that his next breath of smoke doesn’t pour into Uncle’s space, and he feels… something. Is it tenderness? He’s spent the last hour trying to channel the concept of delicacy, so it must be working.

“I’ve been thinking that I might like tea better with sugar,” he suggests softly, still turned away, and Uncle immediately spoons some into his cup.

“That is what you have been contemplating up here?” Uncle asks skeptically. Then he chuckles to himself. “Perhaps my appreciation for the art of tea has been rubbing off on you.”

He knows that Uncle likes that idea, so he nods. Uncle immediately looks concerned and places a hand against his forehead.

“Are you ill, Prince Zuko? You don’t feel feverish.”

Zuko closes his eyes and remembers his mother’s hand on his forehead so long ago. “I think I’m just… tired. Sorry.”

He moves away to take a sip of the tea, and it actually does taste better. Uncle is still frowning.

“Perhaps you are having some kind of internal conflict,” he offers, “that is putting your body in distress. I wasn’t going to mention it until you were a bit older, but it bears mentioning that our family has always had to struggle between the two sides of their souls.”

Zuko’s eyes widen. “They have?” It seems untenable that his father would have ever had a desire for femininity, but Uncle obviously knows him better than Zuko does. And what about Uncle himself? “How do you deal with it? Do you just ignore it?”

“No, Nephew,” he says firmly, placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Both sides are a part of you, each as much as the other. You must acknowledge these thoughts and ideas within yourself in order to fully decide the kind of person that you want to be.”

“I…” Zuko can’t hide his astonishment. “I need to think about this.”

“Perhaps it will help if you meditate,” says Uncle.

\-----

The more he thinks about it, the more he is absolutely certain that he misinterpreted whatever the hell Uncle was saying. It wouldn’t be the first time, given that he always speaks so cryptically.

Regardless of what he was actually talking about, his advice is sound.

Zuko inhales deeply and the candle’s flame brightens in response. He lets himself tune back in to the groaning of _The Little Lady_ , hears the shrieking of metal against metal as their course is slightly adjusted, and thinks to himself that he also prefers to respond to minute changes in his life by screaming.

They have a lot in common.

He hears the metallic echoes of the ocean sloshing around him, and remembers the few times he’s been in the water. The cold sapping of his strength had been terrifying at the time, especially given his relationship to temperature as a firebender.

But in the safety of his room, he imagines the water around him like a cooling balm on his skin and feels like he’s somehow realigning with the world. The candle’s flame droops low, but still present, and Zuko imagines gentleness.

He envisions himself holding a baby turtleduck in his hands, water dripping off of them both. He shivers, alone in nature besides his small companion, and holds it close to his chest where the warmth can be shared.

It quacks and nestles in, and Zuko feels that… tenderness again. Had he wanted to hold Uncle close? Is it the same feeling? His father had always pushed him aside when he’d made attempts at embraces in his childhood. He doesn’t know if he could live through that kind of rejection from Uncle, so it’s better that he doesn’t try.

Is gentleness a feminine feeling? No; right now it’s a Zuko feeling, he knows this in his heart. He recalls his morning thought process. Still himself, but beautiful. Still Zuko, but worthy of love. Oh, to be a tiny, helpless turtleduck cradled carefully to someone’s chest.

He opens his eyes. The flame brightens again.

He’s not sure what this changes. His mission is still a violent one, and he _will_ complete it, but…

Something in his chest has shifted. He needs more time to think about it, but luckily, with a mission like his, he has all the time in the world.


End file.
